My cheatin’ heart

I’ve been looking at other houses lately.

The progeny’s father has been in real estate in one form or another since I met him.  He was my landlord at one point actually.  So I’ve had a finger in the real estate pie for a couple of decades.  I also have more than one friend who looks at property porn and shares the especially yummy bits.

I’ve always looked.  It doesn’t hurt to look.

But I noticed the last couple of times that I’m not just looking and seeing a pretty piece of property.  I’m starting to actually think about how I would inhabit the space.  What colors would I paint the walls?  Would I get rid of a table in the kitchen and construct floor to ceiling shelving as a pantry?  Oh, that sea of asphalt around the house is horrible.  It would be so much better if it was gravel or clam shells.

As long as the bones are good I can make the space work in a fun and funky way that feels like home.

Am I really thinking about selling and relocating?

One house is out of commuting range and just a wee bit over my budget but still within reach if there was a good paying job in the area.  Those are about as rare as hen’s teeth in my field so a move is most likely not in our future.  Plus the co-parenting issue.  Yeah, so not happening.

The other property is listed at less than my current house would sell for at the low range and I have a decent amount of equity in the house.  You can’t tap equity these days at my end of the spectrum so it really doesn’t do me any good unless I sell.  So if I sold my current house I could not only buy the other one with a 15 year note and a hefty deposit, I could also pay off a good chunk of debt and my monthly expenses would drop significantly because the taxes would be cut in half on a lower priced house.

And it’s damn cute.  Or at least it could be.

These thoughts are scaring me.

I love my house.  I don’t want to leave it but I’d also like to have things like baseboards, trim around the windows and a stove that isn’t literally falling apart.  The French doors in my bedroom lead out to a roof.  Some of the plugs spark when you plug into them and there’s a recessed light that just doesn’t work for more than a month or so once the bulb is changed.

There’s quite a few unfinished projects and lots of deferred maintenance.

The consequences of being busy and broke, in many ways, for more years than I care to remember.

There are roommates as of Friday.  I’ve put off getting some for an entire year.  That was an accomplishment I wanted under my belt and a raised finger to the doubters.

Yes, I am that stubborn.  It’s served me well during my life.

I don’t need the roommates to pay the monthly expenses.  I actually have those covered.  They’re here to pay off debt and finally finish the house after living here for thirteen years.

I should probably finish moving out of the basement next door while I’m at it.

It’s odd having full control of how the money comes in and out and what to do with it.

I kinda like it.  Control of my own destiny and all.

As much as such things can be controlled that is.

Maybe it’s not that I want to actually move.  Just the thought of having to pack the books gives me the vapors let alone everything else.

Maybe I just need to finish my damn house.

Oh, and keep the coffee shop that’s literally two feet away from getting a liquor license.  Yeah, that needs to happen too.  I’ve got a couple of more weeks to rally the troops and hopefully it makes a difference.

If I can slay that dragon I’d love to stay.  Best to have an escape plan if needed though.

Life is certainly interesting.

In all its permutations.